Ivor the Engine Driver Has a Remedy.

Lots of fresh, new ideas with the crumbling of familial archaic ones; with dissolution comes new, separate pieces, yet the same building materials remain.

For him, I wish him luck with his new One.

For me, I wish me all that I have and more, less the one that was not all in and the other that is damaged beyond repair.

And openness. I cannot wait for open air and clean spaces, even when inundated with stick-figure drawings and math sheets and take-home reminder slips; my home will feel different, I know.

Frankly, my dear:
*Some have told me to try online dating, especially as my social network is "exhausted". I don't plan on dating my mama friends or library activists/grandparents, so the advice might be worthwhile (but really, I'm too freaked out about the sizable creep ratio to make an online effort).

*And, to tell you the truth, I like this time I've created to get my sh*t sorted out without having to worry about someone else or about the dramas that come with new relationships...But if someone braves the path to shake my hand, as it were, I'd lustily reach out my hand to return the shake...

*It's fall, I love Halloween, I felt awesome as Pippi Longstocking (strongest girl in the world!!), and I can't wait to make pie for my friends and family. PIE!

*Coffee. If you ask me, I'd say yes.


If you stayed for the whole video/song, you'll find that the young woman is forgiven her betrayals. I do believe he's lying.

Personalize It

Today my daughter told me her doll had cancer.

This afternoon my mother lied, again, to me.

The air is just a bit too thick sometimes.


I miss my sister.

Giving Up or Giving In or Letting Go?

 

Leaf Lives

We hung on so long, didn’t we?

Sinew stems clinging to our supports,

bark-bound life-lines feeding us,

phloem and xylem harmoniously pulsing

through our fine, filial veins.

Thus we lived, left alone together

we just hung about, blowing about,

susurrus our only soft speech

as warm fronts forced our faces to touch.

Remember when we bent toward the sun?

Then came the dryness, the heat of the summer

wilting our reach.

Tips of arthritic fingers

only able to curl in on ourselves,

neither of us could grasp the season to come.

Rumors of rain from trunk to treetop

spread…

Petrichor promises turned our bellies to the sky,

we swallowed the first drops of rain,

grateful and greedy for what cloud fortunes fell.

Some of us survived, revived by what rain came.

Others coiled, shriveled to crunchy shells;

empty of purpose they were freed,

collapsing and collecting

at the foot of our creation.

Our end is nearly here;

we will begin our next lives as nutrients

after we release, gathering together below.

I look to you to compare, to see,

Who will fall first?